


Transatlanticism (I need you so much closer)

by flashindie



Category: Good Girls (TV)
Genre: F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-01
Updated: 2019-05-01
Packaged: 2020-02-15 18:17:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18674941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flashindie/pseuds/flashindie
Summary: His lips ghost over hers, enough that she can smell the gin on his breath, that she can taste him almost on her tongue. But he doesn’t close the distance between them, just says, “You know me, darlin’, I like to get kissed before I get fucked.”-Set sometime after 2.09 with a bit of 2.10 speculation. Beth and Rio have it out in an alley. There is like, no plot, haha.





	Transatlanticism (I need you so much closer)

**Author's Note:**

> The Canada plot thread is based loosely on the promo for 2.10 and I'm sure will be completely wrong, haha.

She gets the call sometime around four, Sara’s number flashing bright across her phone screen as Beth leans over the dining room table, talking Kenny through his seventh grade English homework. Grabbing the phone, she answers it, her voice bright, figuring it’s to talk about the Journey Scouts’ trip, or Ruby over her shoulder, coaxing her to invite Beth to another debate or soccer game while they do the long drive back across the border. 

Only - - only that’s not what it is. 

“Aunt Beth,” and her voice is tinny over the line, wet with tears. She chokes briefly on a sob, and something in Beth’s chest stutters to a stop. 

“Sara, honey, what’s wrong?” she asks, sliding up from the dining room table. At Kenny’s look, she gestures back down to his books, _keep going_. The sound of Sara’s quiet cries echo in Beth’s ear as she strides out towards the living room, only to be broken by the sound of Dean’s voice upstairs, playing with the girls, so she moves quietly into her bedroom instead, closing the door behind her. 

“We’re at the police station,” Sara says. “I don’t - - I don’t know –” 

And she’s gasping again, and Beth’s back finds the hard surface of her closed door, her eyes blinking, heart racing, and then there’s a pattern of beeps, humming below Sara’s sobs, another call trying to break up the line, and Beth pulls the phone away from her face enough to see another incoming call, this one collect from a jail cell over the border, and just - -

*

He hadn’t answered when she called, not the first time or the sixth or any of the times in-between, or replied to any of her texts, but somehow there’d been no doubt in her mind that he’d be here, waiting for her at the bar, a healthy thrum of people buzzing around him in the early evening. She steels herself, taking a breath, pushing her handbag further up her shoulder as she beelines towards him. He doesn’t even look up at her, just takes another swig of his drink.

“Annie and Ruby – ” she starts, but she doesn’t get much further. Rio makes a sound somewhere between a huff and a laugh, rocks his torso forwards a little over the bar, fingers interlocking in front of him. Like this, she can only see his profile, the dark flutter of his lashes, the rough stubble of his beard, and she thinks how it felt when - -

No. 

She blinks, adjusts her weight on her feet. She holds her bag a little closer to her side when a girl, younger, sweeter, a lot drunker, nearly barrels into her back. 

“ _They_ came to _me_ ,” Rio says, throwing a few notes down on the bar and lurching up to his feet. He slides off the stool the opposite way from her, forcing her to step around it to get closer to him, but he doesn’t let her catch him. He’s quick through the crowd, long and narrow amidst the clutch of bargoers, and even here, people seem to defer to him only to step in her way, broadening the distance between them. She picks up her step, pushes around a bigger guy who smells like cheaper beer than this bar sells, a couple, grinding their hips together. A man yells something out to his friend waiting in line for the bathroom, almost stepping into Beth as he does it, and she can see Rio push out the back door, and so she _runs_ , tearing through the last of the bar and out into the street behind him. 

The evening air greets her too quickly, a cold grip at the back of her neck, ghosting its breath across her cheeks, down the neck of her shirt. She hadn’t even thought to grab a coat as she’d left, thrumming with energy, with nerves, with something between unguided panic and a sparking anger, because they hadn’t told her, because he’d thought - - he’d thought - - she didn’t know what he thought. 

She’s never come in this way, and she’s a little unnerved to find herself in some seedy back alley, the floor sticky underfoot with spilt beer and spirits, stinking faintly of vomit, faintly of sex, but mostly that stagnant, caged trash smell that emanates from the bins at the further end of it. 

Rio’s still a few steps ahead, almost at the entrance of the thing, where it breaks open onto the street, and she darts forwards behind him, grabbing his elbow before she can think, spinning him back towards her. 

“They were arrested,” she says, and she can hear it, the urgency in her voice, the desperation. He must be able to hear it too, and _please_ , she thinks, although what she wants, she’s not sure. It’s not for what he says though. 

“Damn, guess you got out at the right time then, huh?” and there’s something slightly mocking in his voice as he yanks his arm from her grip, burying his hands in the pocket of his coat, his face carefully neutral, but there’s something in his eyes she can’t place, something that twists in her belly, pulses in her toes. 

She reels back, face open, eyes wide. 

“ _Did you do this on purpose?_ ” 

And then it’s him reeling back, visibly shocked, blinking a few times before he schools his expression again. 

“Why the fuck would - -” and then he steels his breath, rocks his jaw forwards and looks at her. “Anyone ever tell you you got trust issues?” 

And Beth scoffs, loud. 

“That’s rich coming from you.” 

“Yeah okay,” he breathes out a laugh. “You know what’s fun about you bein’ out? Not havin’ to put up with your bitchass drama anymore. Why don’t you go to that big ol’ house of yours, and that dumbass husband, and you can play out this afterschool special on your own time.” 

With that, he turns on his heel, starting back towards the entrance of the alley, turning out onto the street, and it takes a second for Beth to follow, the clipping of her heels on the concrete loud with the force of her steps, even over the hum of roadside traffic, the chatter of pedestrians, heading out to afterwork drinks. 

“You sent them there,” she says, following him up the street. She can see his car in the distance, parked almost a block up. She picks up her pace. “You’re the boss, right? Isn’t that what you’re always saying? You have a responsibility to - -”

“To what?” he asks her, not even turning back to look at her. “What the fuck do I care?” 

“They were doing a job for you.” 

“And they knew the risk. Ain’t none of you can play virgin. We’ve been doin’ this dance for more than a year. You know the rules.” 

“You’ll have lost your product,” she tries. 

“I can get more.” 

“They could turn you in.” 

“I doubt it.” 

Beth blinks, chest heaving, and she stops, and he must hear it. The way her shoes have stopped their clipping after him, and it’s enough at least to make him slow, to turn around and look at her, and he must see the confusion, the disbelief on her face, because he laughs briefly, the tone of it patronising. He widens his eyes, tilts his chin down towards his chest when he talks to her, like she needs that from him. 

“For the two of them? All roads lead back to you, darlin’.” 

The street light behind him suddenly flickers on, all of them do, like they’ve just realised that the evening has brought with it the darkness. It has the effect of not so much illuminating anything, but rather casting too many shadows – the postbox on the corner, the telephone poles, a bike, propped against the building, and his, of course his, long, angling back towards her. How can he feel this close when he has to be almost ten feet away? 

“What do you want?” she says. “Money? I can get you money.” 

And he just laughs, something cold and unfamiliar. He looks at her, tilting his head, smiling a little, but she doesn’t like it, something about it making her shiver. 

“You ain’t got nothin’ I want no more,” and then he snorts, eyes skimming her body, lips twisting into a smirk. “Ain’t got nothin’ I ain’t had.” 

When she just stares back at him, ignoring the tightness in her chest, he lets out an ugly, amused hum, just like the one he did after he caught Beth in her own lie watching Kenny swim. He gives her another look, something satisfied and knowing, amused for the wrong reasons, in the wrong sort of _way_ , before he turns around again, starts off down the street towards his car, and Beth steps forwards once, twice, mind reeling, because he can’t – because _she_ can’t – _Annie and Ruby and Annie and Ruby_ sounding like a mantra in her head. 

“Then maybe I’ll do it,” she calls, voice cutting through the night, and when he keeps walking, she adds, “Maybe I’ll turn you in. Won’t be hard. I’ve done it before.” 

He doesn’t stop so much as he slows down, the weight in his legs dragging until they finally come to a stand-still. He turns back towards her – so slowly, _too_ slowly, his eyes almost black below the street lights, and they’re just staring at each other, feet apart, until he starts back towards her, closing the gap between them faster than she’d like. She can hear her own breath, feel the rush of blood in her head, the pinch of the cool night air tearing through her, but she’s thrumming with energy when he comes to a stop in front of her, not too-much taller when she’s in her heels like this, but somehow big enough to _loom_. 

“You seem to be forgettin’ how this works,” he says, voice low, and he’s just - - he’s so close. Almost as close as the other day, when he’d - - when _she’d_ \- - and it’s the last thing she should be thinking about, but she can’t help it, not with his breath, warm on her cheek, not with his body, firm and lean before her, and she can see straight through that shirt of his, because she _has_ seen it. Seen _him_ , and she can feel the hot flush creep up her chest, clawing up below the open neck of her blouse, and she can see it, the way his eyes slip down to watch it, which somehow, frustratingly, only seems to deepen it. 

She keeps waiting for him to continue, but he doesn’t. Instead, they just stand there, staring at each other, until Rio raises a hand, strokes softly curled fingers down her cheek, and the gentleness in his touch doesn’t so much ignite in her as it does continue to burn, and her eyes flutter shut, or they _do_ until his fingers are suddenly below her jaw, gripping it tight. Her eyes snap back open and when she tries to jerk back, he holds her tighter still, pulling her up towards him, hard enough she lurches up onto her toes. 

His lips ghost over hers, enough that she can smell the gin on his breath, that she can taste him almost on her tongue. But he doesn’t close the distance between them, just says, “You know me, darlin’, I like to get kissed before I get fucked.”

And then he lets her go, laughing a little when she stumbles back down onto her feet, and she slaps him, and he laughs harder, and before she can help it, she’s grabbing him by the back of his neck, yanking him down towards her and slamming their mouths together. It’s bruising, instantly it’s bruising, and he’s hooking a hand in the neck of her blouse, yanking it enough that she’s’ vaguely aware of the shatter of buttons on the footpath around them, on the sudden gust of cold air, nipping up through the lace of her bra, and then his hand, grabbing her breast, his other hand tangling in her hair, pressing her into him, against him. 

Somebody wolf whistles in the distance, a man yells something lewd, but Beth can barely hear any of it, can barely hear anything except Rio’s pants against her mouth, the exhale as he scrapes the sharp edge of his teeth against her cheek on his way down to her neck. His thigh pushes urgently between her legs, and Beth’s fumbling back, trying to step away, because this is - - she needs to - - but then he is too, leaning off her just enough to stare down at her. 

They’re both just breathing for a second, and Beth’s hand is shaking when it lowers to her open blouse, and his eyes are on the skin she’s trying to cover when he grabs her wrist and yanks her back off the street, dragging her into the nearest alley, out of sight (or at least, mostly). It’s all it takes for her to get a second wind, dropping her handbag to the ground, her hands going straight for his belt, but he bats her away, spinning her, shoving her chest-first, gracelessly, into the wall, unbuttoning her jeans and yanking them down to mid-thigh. He cups her, hand hard up between her legs, rubs a little through her panties, and the guttural laugh he makes when he realises how wet she is somehow makes her want to throttle him and keen all at once. 

She’s lifting her hands up on the wall, means to push off, push back against him, but then he’s pulling her panties down, pushing a finger roughly into her, fucking her with it, and it’s too quick, it’s too _soon_ , but she’s pushing her hips back against him, _onto_ him, desperate suddenly for _more_. He adds another finger, and she can feel him shuffling behind her, hears the sound of him unzipping, freeing his cock from his underwear, from his jeans, before he pulls out his fingers and pushes in. 

Beth gasps, hands balling into her fists, her forearms grinding into the bricks and she needed another finger first, needed it slower, but the burn is too good, the way he fills her is, and she’s keening when he pulls almost the whole way out again before slamming back into her. 

One of his hands finds her back, pushing her chest so hard into the wall she briefly struggles to breathe, pulling her hips back with the other hand as he fucks into her. His body seems to bracket her, his chest rocking forwards to almost spoon against her back, his hand coming around to grab at her waist, to push up between her and the wall below her and fondle her breast. And she wants to touch him, _needs_ to, and she’s raising her hand behind her, grabbing his neck, pulling him down, closer to her own, and she feels his hips stutter inside her when she digs her nails in, and then he’s growling, hard, over the sounds of her moans. 

“Has your husband ever fucked you like this?” his voice a gravelly rumble in her ear as he bites the flesh just behind it. Her hand balls into a fist at his neck, hitting him _hard_ at the side of his face she can reach, but he doesn’t budge, just bites harder. “I bet he hasn’t. I bet he doesn’t know what the fuck to do with you. Bet you play like you’re soft, huh? Bet you play some wide-eyed Mrs Brady to make him feel like the man he ain’t. You don’t got to play with me, Elizabeth.”

And she can feel herself tighten around him, impossibly wet, turned on, eyes clenched shut, grinding her arm into the brick wall, hard enough to tear her skin, and then suddenly he’s slipping out of her. The noise she makes is one she hopes she’ll forget – too urgent, too needy, and her embarrassment only doubles when he presses his lips too softly to the back of her neck, almost in comfort. 

“It’s okay,” he whispers there, and then suddenly the weight of him is gone, and she turns only to see him crouching down, and Beth can’t figure out what he’s doing until he’s pulling her pants down around her ankles. When they won’t give around her boots, he lets out a chagrined growl, and lifts her feet, tearing off her shoes before getting her pants off too. The cold air is nipping at her legs, but it’s nothing compared to the bricks scraping against her bare ass when Rio spins her around, pressing her back into them. His hands come below her thighs, gripping them almost painfully tight, before he yanks her up again, spreading her legs as wide as he can – as wide as he _wants_ now that she’s naked from the waist down in the alley. 

“Look at me,” he tells her, voice taut. “I want you lookin’ at me.” 

She blinks her eyes back open, hadn’t even realised she’d closed them, and his own eyes are almost all pupil, so blown they’re almost black, and there’s an expression on his face she can’t read as he pushes into her again. 

“You want this,” he tells her. And she can’t say it, _won’t_ , the thought of it all – of this – of this _thing_ between them almost too much to bear, because he’s wrong. She’s not lying. She’s a mother, before anything else, she’s a mother, and she has to protect them. She’s not anything if she can’t - - and yet - - and yet maybe she’s nodding, blinking, and she thinks maybe she’s crying, can feel the tears matting her lashes, one escaping, slipping down her cheek, and Rio’s kissing it away before it gets far and then she’s grabbing his cheeks, guiding him back to her mouth, kissing him frantically. 

His hips stutter, and then he drives deeper into her, and she gasps into his mouth, and it’s enough for him to finally lower a hand to her clit, and she doesn’t know how it’s possible - - only the third time they’ve done this, but he _does_ know her, at least like this already, rocks her over the edge in less than a minute, and she’s shuddering, clenching around him as his movements grow more erratic. 

It’s not long then until he’s collapsing against her, pushing her back further into the wall, resting his surprising weight against her. And it’s done, over, but it doesn’t stop him from pulling her by her hair suddenly sideways, his lips finding her neck and _sucking_ , and she squirms against him, tries to get _off_ him, but he holds her too tight, and so she resigns herself to the hickey, the juvenile _I was here_ stamp she knows he needs to leave.

When he’s done, he lifts his head, thumbing the new bruise at her neck, dragging a nail back against it and watching her shudder. Finally, he lifts her enough to slip out of her before lowering her to the ground, her feet making awkward work of finding the floor. She ducks below his arm for her panties, then her pants, fumbling with her shoes. He watches her closely, too closely, an unreadable expression on his face, as she puts herself back together, and she doesn’t look at him, when she says: “Well, what are we going to do?” 

“What do you mean?” 

And Beth jerks her head up to look at him, his expression faux clueless – eyes wide, mouth a little open (and god, it’s swollen, red, she can see the marks her teeth made). Something in her chest tightens, and she blinks at him, too many times. 

“Excuse me?” 

And he makes a show out of dawning recognition, like he didn’t know exactly what she was talking about. 

“Oh, sorry, baby, you think this means I’m gonna take care of your problems? You said it yourself, yeah? You’re done. That’s all over. But, hey, if you want to do this again,” he says, then holds out his hands. “My door’s always open.” 

And he’s grinning when he turns on his heel, back towards the entry way of the alley, and that’s all it takes for Beth to grab her handbag off the ground and dart after him, ignoring the ache in her, well, _everything_ , as she catches up to him, grabbing his arm, yanking it back _hard_. 

“No,” she says, voice firm, leaving no room for argument. “You’re helping me. You’re helping me get them _out_.”

He opens his mouth to disagree, and she stops him, barrelling forwards. 

“You want me to owe you? _Fine_ , I’ll owe you. But you’re going to do it. If you don’t - - if you thought I was a pain in your ass before - - ”

The words won’t come beyond that, but she hopes he sees it, all the ways she _means_ it, and she thinks he does, can see it in the way he looks at her, the way he takes her in. 

“It’ll mean you’re back in,” he drawls, and Beth squares her shoulders, ignoring the tightening thrill in her gut at the thought. God, it’s only been _days_ , but she can’t think about that now. Instead she grits out, “Fine,” and tries not to dwell on the grin that dashes across his face, that he just as quickly supresses. 

“I’ll see what I can do.” 

“Thank you.” 

He nods a little, looks at her again, and before she can say another word, he kisses her, bruising hard, and too fast, and before she can catch her breath, he’s gone.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the Death Cab for Cutie song of the same name.


End file.
